I’d Rather Pee in my Pants
Than ask my teacher to use the bathroom.
I’d rather pee in my pants than ask my second-grade teacher to use the bathroom. Why? Because she scared the piss out of me. Literally.
Mrs. Crawford was a large woman. She wasn’t fat. But she was tall and hefty, especially compared to me as a seven-year-old.
I can still hear the swishing sound of her pants as her thighs rubbed together when she walked among the dainty desks in the classroom…
She had grey hair, glasses, and dark skin, and she always wore polyester pants. I hated the sound of those pants.
She was mean. And she scared me.
I don’t remember what she did that day that terrified me. I only remember trying to be invisible: follow directions, avoid eye contact, and stay silent.
Mrs. Crawford instructed us to remain in our seats after our math test. Which is exactly what I did.
However, I had to pee. Since asking to pee was the opposite of staying invisible…I peed in my chair at my desk.
Oh, yes, I did!
I’m not proud of it. Heck, I didn’t even realize I did it.
There I sat, in urine for God knows how long because I was in denial that I had peed at my desk in second grade!
Mrs. Crawford found out about my accident when the surrounding students noticed their feet were wet. A classmate raised her hand.
“Why is there water on the floor?”
Mrs. Crawford and her polyester thighs marched toward me to see what was pooling beneath the desks. It didn’t take long to see the trail lead to me.
But I was still in denial.
“Did you go to the bathroom on my floor?” Mrs. Crawford asked.
“No, ma’am.” I shook my head.
“It looks like you did.” She pointed to the urine surrounding my desk.
“I don’t think so.”
“Stand up.”
I obediently stood.
I looked down. My legs and dress were drenched, and urine dripped from my bloomers. I was speechless, my body shook with fear, and my lip trembled. My face burned with embarrassment.
“I’m gonna have to call your mama.”
I nodded in agreement, tears running down my face.
The rest of the class went to recess. Mrs. Crawford walked with me, paving the shameful trail of tears, to the principal’s office to call my mother.
Mom ate lunch with me that day. With a change of clothes in tow, of course.
Later that afternoon, my father had a come-to-Jesus meeting with Mrs. Crawford. I think he said something about if I had to go to the bathroom again she’d better let me go. Otherwise, she’d be cleaning up my mess and hers, too, because he’d beat the crap out of her.
I don’t think parents can say that to teachers anymore, but back then…
From that day on, Mrs. Crawford had a soft spot for me. As a matter of fact, she honored me with the two most coveted jobs in the class. I got to beat the erasers and clean the chalkboard every day for the rest of the year. 🎉
Plus, I got to go to the bathroom whenever I wanted. Which was good since I was still too scared to ask if I could go. 🫣
I have to admit, I learned a thing or two from Mrs. Crawford:
- polyester pants make a lot of noise
- teachers can traumatize children with polyester pants
- karma is a b*!ch
Karma… What a great lesson in karma. First, Mrs. Crawford had to clean up after scaring the piss out of me. And having to clean it up while I had lunch with my mom was the icing on the karma cake.
